Opinions are like assholes–everybody knows one, or two.

Myself? I realy don’t have any opinions-none. I am without the ability to formulate an opinion.

At least, an opinion that is my own. It just isn’t possible–my personal narrative was co-opted some twenty years ago, and everything since has been me, arguing against a narrative of the worst kind of violence–narrative violence, directed by state powers at an individual who has no tthe time, nor the resources to fight, refute, dispute, or otherwise overcome the abuse of power and the outright falsehoods of lies, half truths, official records and other state mechanisms of the destruction of ‘truth’ that are normally directed at individuals who are easy prey for corrupt narratives and state violence.

For me, perhaps the most interesting part of my story, is the interaction between a secret society-the Fraternal Order of Police-and state sanctioned crimes directed against children, via the police.

For me, there is no more powerful narrative, than to realize that the mechanism/s that brought my humble life before the cops and the courts was the daughter of a Mamasota police man–a former child prostitute, a runaway, and a ‘garbage child’ ike myself, who for whatever reason, had fled her father–a law enfarcement agent–and her mother–a child abuser.

I cannot emphasize enough, how that state narrative has/d intruded upon my own–and sought ever after to inculpate, incarcerate, or contain and control my story–lest the genie get out of the bottle, and Barbara Eden discover that she is a slave to the Miitary Industrial Complex–or an agent of the surveillance society, squared–a tool in the schema of sexual power–a tool that was used, and in less than notable fashion, contained in a bottle, in perpetuity, via Hollywood complicity in state narrative formation.

Ironic, then, that I would meet the daughter of a Mamasota aw enfarcer thereabouts–and to be shot at with rifles, and to be written about in state narratives, and to be completely disembvowelled from my ability to protect a child born to that duplicitous horror.

And that child, to be pimped-literally-by her mother-pimped, literally onto serving the military at the most base level as a ‘baby collector.’

Such is the interface between state power narratives, and police obfuscation and inaction against REAL crime.

And, the part that you pay, too, every time you seek to stifle a story that runs counter to your Fabian agenda.

And, while we’re on that topic–look at how many kids die here in America, and overseas, because of your odd fixation on–well, you know your audience, don’t you?

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